


His Limits

by Todaywearesoldiers



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Drinking, Drunk Sherlock Holmes, Fluff, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Victorian, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, Victorian Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todaywearesoldiers/pseuds/Todaywearesoldiers
Summary: Watson only published twelve of the points on his list of Holmes's limits, but the original had a thirteenth.In an alcohol-aided attempt to obtain information from Lestrade, Holmes accidentally drinks too much for himself and reveals that Watson isn’t the only one keeping a list.





	His Limits

**SHERLOCK HOLMES—his limits.**

_1\. Knowledge of Literature.—Nil._

_2\. Philosophy.—Nil._

_3\. Astronomy.—Nil._

_4\. Politics.—Feeble._

_5\. Botany.—Variable. Well up in belladonna,_ _opium, and poisons generally._ _Knows nothing of practical gardening._

 _6\. Geology.—Practical, but limited._ _T_ _ells at a glance different soils_ _from each other. After walks has_ _shown me splashes upon his trousers,_ _and told me by their colour and_ _consistence in what part of London_ _he had received them._

_7\. Chemistry.—Profound._

_8\. Anatomy.—Accurate, but unsystematic._

_9\. Sensational Literature.—Immense. He appears t_ _o know every detail of every horror_ _perpetrated in the century._

_10\. Plays the violin well._

_11\. Is an expert singlestick player, boxer, and swordsman._

_12\. Has a good practical knowledge of British law._

_**13\. Cannot hold liquor**._

It was not long after I moved into Baker Street that Holmes and I were invited to a post-case celebration with some officers of the yard. Usually, Holmes would avoid such social endeavors, but he later revealed to me that he was after confidential details that only Lestrade could provide. I do not know if he ever obtained said details, but I obtained another point on my list of Sherlock Holmes’s limits.

Although I rarely publish them, Holmes often makes miscalculations in attempting to solve a case. Sometimes it can be as little as overlooking a mud splash on a cadaver’s trousers- other times it can be as crucial as not noticing a gun in a criminal’s coat pocket. On this night, he had misdiagnosed his own tolerance for alcohol.

In an attempt to make Lestrade loose-lipped with Scottish whiskey, he forgot to gauge his own intake. Every time he poured Lestrade a drink, the inspector would insist on Holmes refilling his own glass. By the end of the night, Lestrade had decided upon staying in his office, but Holmes was guided home by my steady arm.

You cannot meet Holmes without immediately recognizing his grace. On this night, however, he took the stairs to our flat cautiously, counting each one aloud. When I asked why, he murmured about how no detail is too small to a great mind.

“I would argue the solar system is rather a major detail,” I replied.

“I had the solar system not too long ago, but I had to make room. You see, doctor, our minds are like attics we stock with furniture.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“The solar system was making my mind far too cluttered. I had to get rid of it when I met you.” With his final statement, he poked his finger into my chest. I instinctively grasped his wrist, but he only smiled.

I hesitated for a moment before releasing his wrist and clearing my throat. “And what were you making room for? The Jefferson Hope case, I presume?”

He gave one of his signature sharp laughs before shedding his jacket and collapsing onto the sofa. “My desk, second drawer down, righthand side.”

I huffed, wishing Holmes could find using his words to be a more valuable tool. It was late, and my bed was tempting me from the other room. However, I could not resist collecting more data on my newfound friend and flatmate. As such, I slid the drawer out from its place and found a folded sheet of paper. It was flimsy from many refolds but otherwise pristine. I read,

**DR. JOHN H. WATSON- his limits.**

(I must note that underneath my name were various attempts at guessing what the initial of ‘H’ could stand for. Each one was crossed out except for the last which was ‘Harold.’ After reading this rather comical introduction, I glanced to my friend on the sofa who was engaged in the task of undoing his tie with no avail.)

_1\. Medicine.- Immense and infinitely applicable._

_2\. Current events.- Vast but somewhat unnecessary._ _Especially knowledgeable in_ _horse racing._

_3\. Law.- Moral._

_4\. Observation.- Narrow._

_5\. Bravery.- Boundless yet sensible._

_6\. Empathy.- Unparalleled but not a hindrance._

_7\. Loyalty.- Endless._

_8\. Psychosomatic limp._

_9\. One sugar in coffee but no cream._

_10\. One of the best shots in all of England._

_11\. Particularly fond of the Arcadia Mixture._

_12\. Innate talent for working under pressure._

_13._

The last number had been left blank, obviously anticipating a new detail. At finishing my reading of the list, I looked back to Holmes who was still absorbed with his tie which showed no pity to his currently inept hands. The gel in his hair had long ago lost its strength and the stray strands lied limp against his forehead. Compared to the composed detective I had grown used to, this innocent display sent warmth through my chest. I turned out the lamp but left the curtains open as to allow the full moon to illuminate the flat and began walking towards the door of my bedroom. 

“Watson, before you go, it seems my tie is being most unagreeable tonight. Would you?”

A small laugh escaped from my throat. "Of course."

As I crossed the room, he looked up at me from his seat on the sofa, his gray eyes catching the moonlight.  "Did you agree with the points on my list?"

"Mostly, yes." I let my finger slide down his neck, starting at the jawline and ending at his tie. I did so gently enough that only my nail came in contact with his skin, but I still felt him swallow underneath my touch. From here, I did only as I was asked, undoing the tie with mechanical movements.

"It is complete except for one minor detail. I'm uncertain as to how the subject feels about me." He grasped my fingers with his own and raised my hand until it was in front of his lips. Hesitating, he glanced at me to which I gave a curt nod before he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. "You will stay, won't you?"

This was the first time I had felt Holmes’s lips on my skin, and I wanted to record the sensation down to a science- to break apart every aspect until I had a manageable list like the ones we had devised from each other’s enigmatic identities- but knew studies such as these are best conducted under controlled conditions. I was aware his question had multiple meanings: The immediate, to stay with him now, on the sofa, and what would happen in the uncertain future if his feelings were not returned. I wanted to answer the immediate and hold him until morning, even if he regretted it in a more sound mind, but the question of the future warned me against it. To reference Holmes’s observations, my bravery is boundless yet sensible.

“Goodnight, Holmes.”

He smiled with closed lips and averted his eyes from my own. With the crocheted blanket around his shoulders, he unfolded himself onto the sofa, slender limbs hanging over the edges. I understood this as my permission to leave and ran a hand through his hair before turning away.

Before leaving the room, I took the pen from his desk and wrote in ‘Hamish” underneath the H. I went to refold the paper and return it to the drawer, but the empty number thirteen again caught my eye. With a wavering hand, I wrote,

  _13\. Will always stay._

                

 


End file.
